


My Love For You

by Beehsknees



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Character Study, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Requited Love, Romance, Slow Dancing, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beehsknees/pseuds/Beehsknees
Summary: "I want to dance." He whispered, almost too quiet to be heard as the sounds of the outside world whisked away his words the second they left his mouth."Dance with me. Please." The plea was... different. Rawer, somehow. This wasn't a silly little Neil capade because he wanted to have fun, this was new. He sounded sad, almost. Melancholic.
Relationships: Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 93





	My Love For You

"For the last time Neil, this isn't a holiday." 

"Then why am I sat by a private pool in a floral shirt and khaki shorts, holding a delicious Strawberry Daquiri in my hands?" 

The two were stationed abroad - not that the country ever mattered; the name changed but the views stayed the same eventually. Who had time for site seeing when you were too busy collecting intel and trying not to get killed? Neil, apparently. This was intended to be a serious mission. Follow a suspicious character and find the whereabouts of whatever important time-related information they needed this month. Their search efforts had led them to booking out a room of a very expensive and very luxurious high-end hotel, and Neil seemed to see it as a vacation excursion and not a deadly serious mission. 

He lay, strewn about a sunbed with his ridiculously shaped glass, half full of red slushie and a tiny umbrella protruding from it. A larger umbrella stayed open beside him as his glasses rest atop his head - naturally, due to his fair complexion, he preferred to stay out of the sun yet 'enjoy it from afar' (his words). His light blue 'relaxation shirt' had a pompous array of palm trees decorating it, and he hadn't even bothered to button it, letting it instead sway in the gentle warm breeze as his surprisingly smooth chest soaked up the atmosphere. The Protagonist wondered why he brought him anywhere sometimes. The man was a genius, that much was glaringly obvious. Neil was... one of a kind. He could work like no other, and The Protagonist had never found anyone else who worked so well with him. It's as if their minds were two halves of one machine, one motherboard which operated so smoothly together they didn't even need to speak to communicate. Well, most of the time. However, when it came to time off and general leisure? They couldn't be further from each other. Neil's idea of relaxation was slippers, dressing gowns, hot drinks and books beside a fire, meanwhile his own idea of relaxation was... doing fifty fewer pull-ups than normal and maybe putting on classical music whilst he worked. Which led them to today, having one of their notorious 'lovers quarrels' as Ives called it (which only angered The Protagonist more as he would then snap at Ives for insinuating they were lovers as Neil egged them both on because apparently, he was a sadist who got his primary source of enjoyment from watching his two friends row). 

"We have work to do. We're supposed to be keeping an eye out for our suspect." The Protagonist had removed his shirt and blazer, leaving himself in his white vest and slacks, smacked Neil atop the head with a folder before dropping it on the floor beside him. Neil laughed in response and took an annoyingly loud sip of his cocktail.

"Relax! I've been keeping an eye on the security footage. Order a drink and some food - you may as well, it's classed as 'work expenses' so we don't have to pay for it." He practically giggled as he continued sipping at his drink, occasionally glancing to the laptop on the table which showed a slightly grainy CCTV footage of each area of the hotel, and he was right: not a single sighting of their suspect. The Protagonist glared at the back of Neil's head before letting out a dejected sigh. He knew he'd lost this battle. Which is how it usually went, to be fair. Neil just had a way of wrapping him around his little finger. He wouldn't admit it, but he'd go as far to say that Neil was his Achilles Heel - his one weakness. The Protagonist prided himself on being a rational, thought out human being who made errors so rarely that he was sometimes compared to a robot, but there had been times, only a few, but enough to make note of, when something had happened to Neil and he'd feel himself nearly snap. Usually, he could reign himself back in time and calm himself, since he knew Neil was a big boy who could handle his own in a fight, but fuck. The one time he found out Neil had been kidnapped and he'd discovered him tied to a broken chair in a warehouse, blood pooled around him with a face so bruised he looked like he'd lost a pro boxing fight? He saw flashes of white. Those kidnappers were lucky to have the hindsight to disappear before he got there or else they would have looked a hundred times worse than Neil had when they finally got him in an ambulance. Thankfully, no permanent injuries, other than a bruised ego and a sheepiness Neil felt for 'letting himself get kidnapped'. It was months before The Protagonist felt himself feel comfortable enough to leave his side. Neil swooned over the attention though,  
 _'It's like having my own personal bodyguard. Plus, I won't complain about spending more time with you outside of missions.'_  
He looked back on those days fondly. It was nearly a semblance of normal. They'd even settled into a routine. He'd tend for Neil's wounds (doting on him more than he needed to since Neil absolutely denied that he liked being fussed over, but The Protagonist could read him like an open book, and would happily redress every artificial wound if it meant seeing the soft, almost enamoured look that would flash over Neil's face when he thought he wasn't looking), and they'd spend the day together. Neil's arm was broken at one point, which left him to do most of the cooking. He even had to help dress and undress him - which left both of them more flustered than regular people would be. The Protagonist was thankful his injuries weren't any worse as he doubted either of them would survive having to help bathe him. Still, it was peaceful; homely. It felt serene - like this is what they were meant to be. If they were normal - maybe in another life they would have been roommates? Friends who worked together at a regular job, where people didn't die and they didn't have to think, if each interaction would be their last, what would that be like? He could only imagine. He wouldn't give this up though. Hell, he'd take being dragged to the ends of the earth and back over barbed wire if it meant spending even fleeting seconds longer besides Neil.

Which is how he ended up in a sunlounger next to him, nibbling on a shared charcuterie board and getting wine drunk. (He was embarrassed to admit this happened so often it became almost tradition). 

"-And my response to him was, 'Fuck off Charles, you're a trust fund baby and you know it!'" They both burst into laughter at Neil's anecdote. The Protagonist was obsessed with hearing about Neil's escapades when he was younger. Neil could write a book on his formative, university years and The Protagonist would have read it so many times he could recount it by memory. He supposed it was partly to do with his own upbringing being quite blank, so hearing about Neil's crazy house parties and wild shenanigans as a bright-eyed, soft souled teenager made him warm inside. If he tried hard enough, he could slot himself into these stories as well. The party they held at his flat where his friend chugged an entire dirty pint (he was informed that was a pint glass with everyone's drink poured into and somebody had to drink it all) and projectile vomited all over the kitchen? He could see himself stood next to Neil, an arm slung around his shoulder and cup in hand as they laughed at how disgusting it was. Or the time they stole an entire Pret a Manger sign and hung it up in their living room for three months without being caught? He was transported there - hitching Neil on his shoulders so they could loosen the screws.

Of course, this was wishful thinking. Of course, he wasn't actually there. No amount of Tenet and time travelling could make him exist in that reality. But he was here now, creating memories with Neil at this moment, and that's all that counted.

As the laughter dyed down, Neil caught movement on the camera and sighed once he realised it was nothing important. He placed his wine glass down and ran a hand through his windswept hair. 

"Oh, do we have to work tonight? I'm far too drunk to be of any use to you anyway. And you've had a few as well, so we may as well close the laptop." The Protagonist knew the tone in his voice all too well. The twinkling in his higher octave as he put on his softer, begging voice, those all too sweet doe eyes batting at him innocently, with devilish intentions. They would do the same cat and mouse chase each time - The Protagonist would scold him for being so lenient with work and ask, 'What if something important happens and we miss it?' and Neil would laugh, take a long sip of his drink and reply daringly, 'Darling, nothing important ever happens and you know it'. And eventually, he'd be won over, like always, and they'd end up falling asleep in their beds. However, this time dared to be different. The dialogue never changed - but Neil had a new look in his eye as he sat up, edging only millimetres closer to The Protagonist as he spoke, his words never slurred considering his inebriated state.

"I want to dance." He whispered, almost too quiet to be heard as the sounds of the outside world whisked away his words the second they left his mouth. The Protagonist had to lean in just to hear him and he practically felt his lips brush against his beard. 

"Dance with me. Please." The plea was... different. Rawer, somehow. This wasn't a silly little Neil capade because he wanted to have fun, this was new. He sounded sad, almost. Melancholic. The Protagonist had never heard it from him, and the pang in his chest made him never want to hear such a saddened tone from him again. 

He stood up, offering a hand to Neil who took it and allowed himself to be pulled into The Protagonist's strong arms. He held onto him as if he were a life preserver and they were lost at sea in a foamy storm with no horizon in sight. 

"How can we dance without music, Neil?" The Protagonist asked, and Neil smiled, not unlike that of a coy cat, and pulled out the phone from The Protagonist's backside pocket, searching a song and pressing play. As the intro crooned in, The Protagonist arched a brow.

"Moonlight Serenade?" Neil grinned at his knowledge of the song and nodded, beginning to sway so gently that the particles in the air scarcely noticed their existence. 

"There's moonlight. I'm serenading you. It's fitting." The Protagonist chuckled and swayed along with him, his arms secure around Neil's surprisingly unfamiliar slim waist and Neil let his own arms wrap around his neck, fingers interlocking perfectly like they were sculpted by God's own hands to belong there. Neil was taller - not by much, so he rested his head against The Protagonist's, the feel of the beard rubbing against his own clean-shaven face being a new comforting sensory wave. 

"You're not a bad dancer." Neil mused out loud, letting out a little hum to the music afterwards, the reverb vibrating against The Protagonist as he felt the resonance travel through Neil's chest to his own, up his neck and through his lips, moving to his own cheek in a comforting warmth he wished to never let go.

"Well, this is barely dancing." He responded, his tone soft as he worried any harsher consonants and he'd ruin the peace they'd created. Neil laughed - gentle, but not holding back. How Neil loved to laugh. He adored how easily Neil laughed; he wasn't afraid to be loud when he laughed. And his laugh was so pretty. Could you even call a laugh pretty? It sparkled, it was infectious. The way his mouth would twitch into a smile before he'd burst out laughing, rosy pink lips carrying an irresistible sound that could rival even angels singing. The Protagonist was even proud of how often he made Neil laughed. No one could make Neil laugh like he did. Surprising, considering he wasn't funny at all. At first, he thought it was a pity laugh, but he was serious. 

"You're an excellent swayer, then." He corrected, and he could hear, feel, the smile tugging at his lips as he replied. They were quiet again. The song soon played out, but neither man dared make a move to stop. Even the swaying continued as the jazz faded out, and a new song faded in. Autoplay - what a lovely invention. As the keys of a new song filled the space, The Protagonist smiled.

"Frank Sinatra?" He guessed. The feel of Neil's soft hair brushing against him as he nodded made his stomach slide.

"Stella by Starlight." A song, romantic song. Fitting for the vibe. They were by the starlight, illuminated by the glow of the moon and the reflection of the water's surface. Their hotel room was behind them, mere feet away, the sliding glass doors still open in fact, but it felt like they were in their own little secluded world. 

Neil's hand trailed from his neck up to his hair, strong yet soft hands stroking his hair with such care The Protagonist had never felt before. It sent shivers down him as he breathed in Neil's scent - he always smelled of home, whatever that even meant. Somedays it was apples and cinnamon, other days it was flowers and spring, but no matter what, it was comfort. He smelt like everything right with the world. His scent was the promise of the morning sun, always rising no matter how bad the night before was, and also the glimmering moon, who controlled the waves and offered guidance to confused lovers. The Protagonist stared up at the moon now - glowing like a shiny penny in the sky, so large yet so far away. He knew that no matter where he may be in the world, he and Neil would always be staring at the same moon and wishing each other goodnight and safe returns. Tonight, he didn't have to wish. Tonight he was safe, in _his_ arms. 

He'd melted into the touch too much because when Neil spoke, the jolt of electricity of his voice made him flinch ever so slightly. 

"I have to say I'm... Quite tipsy... However, I hope that you don't misconstrue this as alcohol talking, because it's quite the opposite. The alcohol enables the truth to be told when a sober coward couldn't." Neil spoke, and the words floated into The Protagonist's ear like a sonnet performed to a lover from a balcony. He could listen to him speak for aeons. So charming, he could hold himself in a room of a hundred people and seak in a hush and people would still hang on every word. He didn't interrupt, he just listened. He wasn't much of a talker himself; how could he be when he had Neil there, who would do it so much better? (And the accent, an added bonus). As he spoke, The Protagonist couldn't stop himself from dragging his fingers up and down Neil's spine softly, warm touches to help ground him. He did this often - usually when Neil had episodes and panics to help compose him. Neil leaned into the touch, and his hand that didn't rest in his hair curled into The Protagonist's shirt, gripping as if he were about to slip from his grip forever. 

"I suppose, what I'm trying to say is, well..." A new song came on shuffle. He couldn't even remember the other one fading out, but Neil began to laugh, no, this was different. He shook, but the laugh turned into a sob. He sniffed, apologising as soon as it had happened. The Protagonist held him even tighter, pressing the sides of their head together more. Neil let out another chuckle, more stable this time. 

"Sorry, I... The song. It's as if it knew." The Protagonist tuned his ears to the phone playing and frowned. Neil didn't need him to voice the question he was about to ask, he already figured what he was to say and replied.

"It's Got To Be Love." Neil replied. His voice was timid, almost. Like a creaky door in a ghost-filled house, afraid to announce its presence. He shouldn't be scared though. Because he knew. Oh, he knew. The Protagonist had known since the second the stardust had formed to create them both. They shared a connection. They were one and the same. They were beyond needing pop-song-esque metaphors to describe themselves. 

He wasn't good with words. He was a man of few words. But he knew what he could do. He pulled away, but only a short distance. Just enough to peek at Neil's face, flickering with so many raw emotions that he wanted to freeze for eternity and pick apart everything. He wanted to dedicate his entire life to studying him - like he was the painter, trying to understand the art. And Neil was certainly art. Gorgeous as he was (and he was), it wasn't just that. A pretty face can just be a pretty face and no more. He was thicker than a Bible, with pages twice as thin and text thrice as small; filled entirely with meaningful verse and rhyme. But right now, he was calling to him. Subconsciously. And like a sailor to the siren, The Protagonist fell. 

Their lips danced together like a perfectly choreographed dance, made for this role. They pulled each other closer together - though they knew they couldn't possibly get any closer, they still tried. They would defy physics if it meant being closer, being whole with one another. They pulled away after a moment - or was it an eternity? Time didn't exist around them. Their eyes connected, and electricity flowed between them. Neil cupped his cheek and stroked the carved angles with such a warm look he felt like if he ever had hypothermia, Neil's love could cure him. The Protagonist kissed the corner of his lips with such tenderness as if handling fine china. Could this be heaven? No, this was better. He'd turn heaven away in a heartbeat if Neil wasn't there with him. He was a man of few words, yet he spoke up, hoping the intention carried. How could he summarise years worth of yearning and unabashed, whiplash giving, raw and unadulterated love? How could he let him know that what he felt towards him, had always been reciprocated? There were no second-guessing their feelings, no tiptoeing around the subject. They'd fallen so far and so deep that there was no escape - and neither of them would leave if they could.

"I know. I've always known." The Protagonist replied.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bit of a rambler! Sometimes you just want to write metaphors and inner thoughts. I know there's not much plot, but it made me feel things <3
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a comment! And consider following me on twitter @beehsknees! You can talk to me there! Thank you!


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